Catch Me if You Can
by MaverickLover2
Summary: How do you catch someone who wants to kill you? Let them think you're already dead
1. Chapter 1

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 1

"Stu, you should have been there. It was a lovely service." Jeff Spencer had been released from the hospital the day before and was already back at the offices of Bailey and Spencer, Private Investigators. He sat down in his chair wearily, having just returned with Kookie, Suzanne and Roscoe from Stuart Bailey's memorial service.

A little over a week ago, Stu had been 'killed' by a mysterious hitman at Warner Brother Studios. The subterfuge was necessary to save a young girl's life, the daughter of Sheikh Zayed Bin Nadir al-Nahyan of Saudi Arabia. Stu had been providing personal security for the Sheikh while he attended the World Trade Fair in Los Angeles. Zayed's daughter was abducted to force the Sheikh to cooperate in a plot to kill the private investigator by party or parties unknown. Zayed couldn't go through with it, however, and exposed the plot to Bailey. He and Lieutenant Gilmore staged a 'murder' worthy of any movie studio. Even the papers reported Stu dead, and today was a private service for just the office and the Lieutenant, continuing the charade. An investigation into who was behind the original plot so far had turned up nothing. Bailey continued hiding out in the partnership's offices, even after the girl was released unharmed.

"Did you cry?" Stu asked his partner facetiously.

"Well, it had to be believable," Jeff shot back. Stu had often seen and teased Jeff about his partner's tender nature.

"I cried," Suzanne volunteered.

"Honey, you cry at bake sales. But I appreciate the sentiment. Kookie, what about you?" Stu asked.

"Nah, dad, I just looked miserable." Kookie's smile was cheerless. Even he was affected by the afternoon's pretense.

"Where's Roscoe?"

"I dropped him off at Hollywood Park. He said he could only be unhappy for so long." Jeff reached up like he was going to rub his shoulder and thought better of it. He'd been warned by the doctor to stay home, rest and take it easy; so far he'd none of that.

"See anybody at the service that you didn't know?" The whole point of the continuing charade was to flush out the shooter or the man behind the scheme.

"Nope, not a soul. We had to turn several of your friends away, and they weren't too happy about it. I explained that was the way you wanted it, a small, private service, and eventually most of them were accepting of it." Jeff hadn't been happy about it himself, but Suzanne reminded him of the reason they were doing it.

Stu nodded; there was no good way to keep up the farce, but it was necessary to buy the time he needed to investigate. "Thank your cousin for us, Kookie. We appreciate his help."

"I'm starved, and I could stand a drink. How about we phone an order in to Dino's and Kookie can bring it over when it's ready?" Jeff turned to Suzanne. "Care to join us?"

"Merci, but no, Jeff. I need to go home. I have many things to do that I have been neglecting. I will see you both tomorrow," and before either of them could protest, Suzanne was gone.

"Well, partner, I guess that leaves the two of us."

Stu chuckled slightly. "You're eating with a ghost, Jefferson."

"I don't think this will be the last time, Stuart."

After dinner was over, Kookie appeared and took the dishes back to Dino's. He returned with a bottle of their best scotch. "Harry thought that Stu's sister might like more than one drink tonight."

Bailey shook his head. "Never could fool Harry." He poured a shot for him and Jeff. "Tell Harry Stu's sister said thanks."

"You can't keep living in your office, Stu."

"I know, Jeff. I'll go find a hotel room tomorrow."

"In disguise?"

"Certainly. That little place down the street from the Hilton will do nicely. No one will expect me there."

"Do they have room service? Or are we back to bringing in food twice a day?" Jeff didn't mind being a delivery service if it was what Stu needed to keep investigating. But it had already been a week and no progress had been made. When he expressed that sentiment, Stu protested.

"That's not true. We've eliminated three or four suspects."

"Who?"

"McKnight, Gambino, and Louie the Weasel. And Gil expects to have some news on Schulman in the next day or two."

"So, all you're doing is eliminating people. This could go on for weeks, Stu. Can't you think of any of the more difficult cases that might be involved? I'd like to have my partner back." Jeff was worried that the longer this went on, the bigger a risk Stuart was taking.

The possibility of being found out before the threat was contained was a fact not lost on Stu. As much as Jeff wanted him back, the desire to return to some form of normality was even greater for the man in hiding. He poured himself another scotch and chewed on his lower lip, trying desperately to think of anyone else that posed a real threat. He took a sip of the drink and slowly a picture formed in his mind; the picture of a man from long ago, from his first days back in California. But it couldn't be Binny Carroll. Binny had died in a gunfight that put Stuart in the hospital for weeks.

"Stu . . . Stu, are you with me?"

Stu shook his head. "Sorry, Jeff. I got a little too close to the past there for a minute."

"Anything you can think of back there?"

"Nobody that's still alive."

The shrill ring of the phone interrupted the conversation. It was the office line, and Jeff answered. "Hello?"

"Working late, Spencer?"

"Who is this?" Jeff asked.

"Someone that did you a favor."

"Did me a favor? What kind of favor?"

"Had Bailey bumped off. Now the whole private dick agency is yours."

"Who are you?" Jeff was about as mad as he ever got. Was this really the man responsible for Stu's 'death?'

"Do you really want to know? I think you should just say thank you and let it go. You're welcome, Spencer. Try not to spend it all in one place."

There was a loud 'click,' followed by a dial tone. Jeff dropped the phone down into its cradle and practically shouted, "Damn, damn, damn!"

"Must have been somebody important to make you that mad," Stu remarked.

"It was. It was the man that had you murdered."

"Are you sure?"

"He told me I should thank him for having you killed. Now the agency was all mine."

"What did the voice sound like?" Stu was almost excited. This was the first real lead they'd had in a week.

"Low. Rasping. Some kind of an accent. And cocky as hell."

"The accent. New York?"

"Maybe. East coast, at least."

East coast . . . it started Stu thinking. Somebody from his days in New York? But he hadn't encountered any of those people in years. The only one he'd had to deal with since he'd come back to California was Binny Carroll. And Binny was dead. "You sure it was east coast?"

"Positive," Jeff answered. "Anybody in mind?"

Stu shook his head. "Not a soul, Jeff. Not a soul."

1


	2. Chapter 2

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 2

When he told Jeff he didn't have anyone in mind, that wasn't quite the truth. There were several small-time hoods who had moved to the west coast and done their best to become big-time hoods. Frenchy La Tour, Big Jim Bass, Artie Holmes, Smilin' Mike Walker, and the aforementioned Binny Carroll. La Tour was in San Quentin, Bass had gone back east, Holmes died of natural causes, Smilin' Mike just disappeared, and Carroll died in a gunfight with Bailey. He'd give Gil the names and have them all looked into. All but Binny; Stu was sure he was dead.

He slept on the couch in his office for the last time . . . tomorrow he would don his disguise and get a hotel room. Everyone had gone out of their way to keep the secret, and it was time he got out of their hair. Jeff could start taking clients again without having to explain the noises emanating from Stu's office; Suzanne didn't have to tell people on the phone he was dead while he stood there watching her lie. He wouldn't have to sneak out at three o'clock in the morning to take a shower and shave. And he wouldn't have to eat any more cold breakfasts.

He was up before six, working on turning Stu Bailey into Matt Larson. Change the shape of the nose, darken the skin, put on the wig and glasses and change clothes, into the shirt and jeans Kookie bought him. That wasn't the only thing Kookie bought for him . . . a black, non-descript 1949 DeSoto. And the cap; don't forget to put on the cap. He took off his ring and put it in his pocket, switching his good watch for a 99 cent Walgreen's special, and waited for Jeff to arrive. He was bringing the cash that Stu would use to live on for the next few days.

He was startled by the ringing of the phone; his private line. He didn't answer it. It was probably Gil, but one could never be too sure. He waited until the ringing stopped, then picked up the receiver and dialed Gil's number. "I sure wish you'd come back from the dead," Gil's voice told him from the other end of the line.

"You'll be happy to know I'm checking into The Beverly Hills Inn today. Ask for Mark Larson when you call. I'll let you know when the phone's in."

"In disguise, of course."

"Of course."

"Well, now that Stu Bailey is gone for a while, does Mr. Larson have any names he wants me to check into?"

"Several. Frenchy La Tour, who's probably still in San Quentin; Big Jim Bass, who was supposed to have gone back east; Artie Holmes, deceased; and Smilin' Mike Walker, who fell off the face of the earth some time ago."

"That's all?" Gil asked

"That's all I can dredge up from my memories right now. La Tour's the most likely suspect, but if he's still in San Quentin you'll have to go after his men. Lou Lewis, Marty Ricca, Jake Lang. They'd be out by now. Frenchy was pretty steamed when he got caught; threatened all sorts-of-things. I'll try to think up more once I get some quiet and can quit jumping at every sound. Hear anything yet on Schulman?"

"No, nothing yet. You sure you want to keep up this little farce?"

Stu let out an audible sigh. "I have to, Gil. It's either that or spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. And I don't think the ladies I date would enjoy that too much. Besides, nobody I care about is safe with people taking pot-shots at me."

"Those weren't pot-shots, friend. Those were dead-center shots."

"I know, I was there."

"Alright, have Jeff call me sometime, would you?"

"Trouble?"

Gil almost snorted with laughter. "When isn't there trouble? Our friend, Prince Bilal."

"Oh, that's Jeff's baby. I did my part, it's up to him to handle the rest."

Ten minutes later his partner came in, looking like he needed another eight hours sleep. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I could ask you the same question. But I guess I should ask Mr. Larson, huh?" Stu had morphed into a man with a slight resemblance to Stu Bailey, but that was all. If Jeff didn't know it was Stu he would probably have passed him on the street without a second glance.

"For now, I suppose. Gil wants you to call him. He's heard from the prince."

"Who hasn't? I'll call him once I know you're safe. At least for now."

"I gave Gil some names to check. Here's the list. It's a short one." Stu handed Jeff the paper on which he'd written the names he gave the lieutenant. Maybe Jeff could turn up something Gil couldn't. At least that's what Stu hoped for. The fact that he couldn't do anything about the situation was driving him crazy. He was a man of action . . . six years in the OSS had proven that. Sitting on his rear and trying not to fall asleep from boredom didn't exactly qualify as action. And it was about the only option left to him right now. . .

"Here's the money you asked for. I took it out of my account so it looked just like a normal withdrawal. I'll get you the rest in a couple days. If you need anything else in the meantime, call me."

"I need this all to be over. Can you get me that?"

"You know I would if I could, partner."

Stu gathered the few things he was taking with him and put them in his suitcase. He took that and the case caring the makeup for his disguise and loaded them into the DeSoto. Then he went back in the side entrance to his office. "Call for me in about an hour, and I should have the room number for you. I don't want any kind of record of my calling the office. I'm sorry I have to put the burden of contacting me on you, Jeff, but I have the feeling it's necessary. Take it easy, partner, and don't burn yourself out trying to date all the girls I've left here by themselves."

"You too. I'll call you before dinner. Just be careful."

"Jefferson, I check into hotels all the time."

"You do, but Mark Larson might not."

Stu gave a big sigh. "Yes, mother."

He got behind the wheel of the DeSoto and was gone.

1


	3. Chapter 3

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 3

"How long do you expect to stay, Mr. Larson?" The hotel clerk was asking.

"Probably a week. Maybe longer. I'll let you know if it needs to be longer." Stu hoped it wouldn't run more than a week, but at the moment he just didn't know. "I'd like to pay for the first week now."

"Yes, sir. Here's your key. The room is 124. Do you have any bags?"

"Yes, but I can get them."

"Will you need the phone hooked up for outside calls?"

"Yes, as soon as possible, please."

The room was clean and neat. It had a television, which he hadn't expected. There was a menu on the table and he took a look at it; it would be the first meal he'd had in days that wasn't cold. He picked up the phone and dialed 0 for room service. "This is Mark Larson in room 124. Can I have the hot turkey sandwich with mashed potatoes and gravy? And a dinner salad with Italian dressing on the side, please? Oh, and coffee, black."

He unpacked while he waited. The makeup case he left unopened in the bathroom. When he was finished with that he sat down to wait and think. There was the bribery case in San Francisco . . . Tony Duncan. Stu heard that he'd gotten paroled, but Tony hadn't threatened to kill him. Then there was Dennis Longstreet. Now there was a name for Gil. He'd threatened to see Stu dead if it was the last thing he ever did. As far as he was concerned, Stu had cost him his wife, his house, his business, and every piece of stolen art he owned. Before he could get any further there was a knock on the door.

"Room service," a voice called.

Stuart opened the door to the most beautiful sight he'd seen for a while . . . a hot meal.

XXXXXXXX

It was the ringing of the telephone that woke him. He'd had no intention of taking a nap, but he was full and sleepy, and it had been over a week since he'd slept in a real bed. The temptation was too strong to resist and with time on his hands he laid down and fell asleep.

"Yes?"

"I have a message for you, Mr. Larson. Shall I bring it down?"

"Please."

He got up and went to the bathroom to make sure he still looked like Mark Larson and was pleased that his alter ego was still in place. He answered the door to the clerk, who handed him a slip of paper. Stu, in exchange, gave him a tip.

It was short and sweet. From: Jeff ETA: 6 o'clock. Stu looked at his watch. It was 5:30 now. He went to the bathroom and took off his shirt, then washed the skin darkening makeup off his face and hands. He put the wig and the glasses in the makeup case, put his shirt back on, and brushed his hair. When he looked in the mirror Stu Bailey was looking back at him.

He returned to the other room and turned on the television. Nothing on anywhere but the news, and he wasn't inclined to listen to the world's problems right now. He turned it off. He went back to the bed and picked up one of the books he'd brought. He'd just gotten into it when there was a knock on the door.

"Mark, it's Jeff."

Stu opened the door slowly. One could never be too careful. When he saw only his partner standing in the door, Stu let Jeff in. "Come in, Jefferson. What have you got there?"

Jeff carried a brown paper bag, from which he pulled a bottle of Stu's favorite Scotch. "A house warming, oops, no, a hotel room warming present."

"Let's christen it. I'll get the glasses."

Five minutes later they were sitting down and drinking the Scotch. "Looks like your day was a whole lot more peaceful than mine." Jeff pointed to the rumpled bed.

"Did you talk to Gil about the Prince?"

Jeff nodded, looking very unhappy. "Yes, and then I talked to the Prince. Rather, the Prince talked to me. Endlessly. The only thing I can say is that he was polite to Suzanne."

"Did he want his money back?"

"I thought so, at first. But when I tried to give him back his check, he refused to take it. As he put it, 'You did save my life, after all.'"

Stu chuckled. "So, let me hazard a guess . . . he wanted to talk to you about the disappearance of Yasmine. "

"No, he wanted to yell at me about the disappearance of Yasmine. That's after I wouldn't answer any of his questions truthfully. Or so he said."

"What did he ask?"

"First, he asked if I had anything to do with her disappearance. I asked him how I might have anything to do with her disappearance when I was right by his side all night."

"Ah," Stu said. "Good answer."

Jeff shook his head and looked guilty. "Not according to him."

"Did you remind him that your partner was lying dead in the morgue?"

Jeff got up and poured another Scotch. "I did, but he wasn't buying it. He was sure you were alive and in on it somehow."

Stu laughed and swirled the drink in his glass. "Trust a Moroccan Prince to discern the truth. What kind of a tap-dance did you do around that one?"

"I just looked sad and shook my head. 'I wish that was true, Bilal. But it was not my partner that stole your slave.' Then I looked sad some more."

"I don't suppose that made him happy."

Jeff thought about the Prince and how upset he'd been when he showed up in the Bailey and Spencer offices. He'd lost property, valuable property, and he wanted it back. Never once did he refer to his 'property' as 'she' or 'her', just 'it.' Obviously Yasmine had no human value, only monetary value. That's when Jeff finally lost his cool and reminded Bilal, "You lied to me. You told me you had no slaves with you, because you knew I wouldn't take the job of protecting you if you'd told me the truth. Or have you conveniently forgotten that?"

There was no reply from the Prince for almost a minute. Then he stood up and headed for the door. "You forgot your check, Prince Bilal," Jeff called after him.

"I don't want it, Spencer. You did your job."

Bailey shook his head. "Who knew you could turn him into a whipped puppy with the truth?"

Jeff shrugged. "I'm not sure he was whipped. He just couldn't prove anything. Yasmine's gone, and he's never gonna get her back again. Thanks to the unknown Arab."

"The unknown Arab needs another drink."

XXXXXXXX

"Room service."

"This is Mr. Larson in room 124. I'd like 2 eggs poached, wheat toast, and black coffee. Oh, and a glass of orange juice. That's all, thank you."

Five minutes later the phone rang. "Yes?"

"This is the front desk, Mr. Larson. Your phone is now hooked up for outside calls."

"Thank you."

The first one he called was Lieutenant Gilmore's wife, Ginny. She knew that Stu wasn't dead and had agreed to be the liaison between him and Gil. "Ginny, this is Mark Larson."

"Hi, Mark, where are you? Gil told me you were coming to town."

"I'm at The Beverly Hills Inn, room 124. Would you have him call me when he gets a chance?"

"Will do. Hope to see you soon."

"Me too, Ginny."

In less than five minutes Stu's phone rang. "Mark?" the caller asked.

"Gil, it's good to hear from you."

"Hey, Ginny told me where you were. Can I come over? I can be there in five minutes."

"I think that's a great idea. See you soon."

"Bye."

Gil and Stu had mutually decided, along with Jeff, that they wouldn't discuss anything but innocuous topics, lest someone be listening. Stu felt certain Gil would have news for him on Schulman and Walker and he would have two more names for Gil – Duncan and Longstreet. Stu pulled out his pipe and lit it, determined to come up with more suspects before Gil arrived. Smoking his pipe did no good, however, and he still didn't have anyone else by the time Gil got there.

Once again he carefully opened the door, and once again he was rewarded with someone he knew. "Come in."

"Sick of this room yet?"

Stu let out a laugh. "Are you kidding me? This is heaven compared to living in my office. I've got a bed, a television set, a shower and hot food. What more could a man ask for?"

"To be back in his own home?"

"That's just being mean, Gil. I'll be there soon enough. Have you got news on Schulman and Walker?"

"Walker's dead. He was gunned down in a vice squad raid in Las Vegas three years ago. They still can't find Schulman in New York."

Stu shook his head. "That doesn't make sense, Gil. Schulman was a big-shot businessman in New York. He couldn't just disappear."

"What did you do to get on his good side?"

It was a long, sad story, and Stu had no desire to recall it, much less explain it to Gil. "Let's just say he was a very unhappy man when he left California, and leave it at that."

"Okay, but we still can't find him. You dig up any more for me?"

"As a matter of fact, I did. Try Tony Duncan and Dennis Longstreet. Two more of the city's finest criminals."

"You've got them everywhere, don't you?"

"Nope," Stu answered. "I think that's all."

"What are you going to do, now that you've gotten out of the office?" Gil got up to leave as he asked the question. He had to get back to the office. Or the next crime scene.

"Go out on the street and see if I can find out anything. Somebody's got to talk sometime."

"Be careful. I don't want to find you dead again."

"Say hello to Ginny, will you? From Stu, not Mark Larson."

"Sure. I'll touch base again tomorrow."

"Sounds good. See you, Gil."

"Bye, Mark."

1


	4. Chapter 4

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 4

Stu was up early, shaving, showering and applying the theatrical putty to change the shape of his nose. Then came the skin darkening makeup, the wig, glasses and cap. He added a gun at his hip and a windbreaker, and Mark Larson left room 124.

He knocked on Roscoe's door and was met with a "Who's there?"

"Larson," came the answer, and it took a minute for Roscoe to answer the door.

"Oh, it's you."

"Am I that easy to spot under all this?" Stu asked once he got inside.

Roscoe took a good look before answering. "Only because I know you so well. If I didn't, I wouldn't."

Stu shook his head. "There's an answer in there somewhere, I think."

"Where are you headed?"

"San Pedro," Stu answered. "Thought I'd see what I could find out about Dennis Longstreet."

"There's a name I haven't heard for a while." Roscoe looked concerned when he heard who Stu was looking for. "I heard he retired two or three years ago."

"That's what I'm going to the Port to find out. I need to find Pete Jackson or Shorty McGuire. They used to work for Longstreet."

"I know Shorty's around. I've seen him at the track. I don't know about Jackson."

Stu finally sat down. This investigation was just getting started, and he was already worn out. He just wanted to find out who was involved in the plot to kill him and make sure they didn't try again. The next time he might not be so lucky. "When was the last time you saw him there, Roscoe?"

"Let's see, it's gotta be a week at least. Yeah, it was last week when I bet on that lop-eared Filly named Pizza Girl. I'd just shared a pizza with Suzanne. . . . "

"So we know he's alive and well and working for somebody."

"Yeah, he's getting money to bet from somewhere. Cause he sure isn't winning it at the track."

"Listen, go to the office and ask Jeff to meet me at the hotel at 6 o'clock. And tell him to come hungry." Stu got up and got ready to leave. "See what you can find out about Pete Jackson. Meantime, I'm off."

Bailey made his way across the sidewalk and got back into the DeSoto. He started the engine and headed for San Pedro.

Located on the southern end of the Palos Verdes Peninsula, San Pedro was its own city until it agreed to merge with the city of Los Angeles in the early 1900's. San Pedro is a blend of small-town charm and cultural attractions. It is also a large part of the Port of Los Angeles, where millions of tons of goods are shipped in and out. Lastly, it is a community of waterfront crime lords, many of whom run their empires from the office buildings that surround the Port.

Both Stu and Jeff had dealt with the underworld bosses in one form or another down there. Dennis Longstreet had given Stu no end of trouble several years back over forged checks and altered shipping manifests. He'd been convicted and sent to prison but Stu was told he was out on parole. Nothing had been heard from him since. Bailey wasn't even sure if he was in California.

Longstreet had been particularly incensed because Stuart managed to infiltrate his organization and get close to him personally. Dennis called him a snake-in-the-grass, among other things, and swore he'd get even, if it took the rest of his life. Stu took the threats seriously.

He drove down to West 1st Street, where Dennis's office used to be, but there were no signs of life. The building was vacant and from the look of things, it had been for some time. Then he drove around the shipping dock itself, hoping to catch a glimpse of McGuire or Jackson. After a while he spotted Jimmy Mack, who used to run innocuous errands for Shorty, and sometimes Dennis himself. Jimmy was smoking, and Stu pulled up alongside him. "Hey, you Jimmy Mack?" he asked.

"Yeah, who wants to know?"

"An old friend of Dennis Longstreet's. I been away. Where's Dennis?"

"Didn't you hear? Longstreet got sent to the Q. When he got out he decided to go straight. Moved his whole family up to Oregon. "

"Longstreet straight? They got to him in the joint, huh?"

"Nah, he just decided he was tired of the hassle."

Stu paused for a minute. "Who took over? McGuire or Jackson?"

"Shorty's running' the operation now, but it ain't like it used to be."

"How's that?"

Jimmy ground out his cigarette. "Shorty's got about half the brains Dennis had. He's always screwin' things up."

Stu gunned the engine. "Thanks for the info. If I ever get up to Oregon I'll look Dennis up."

"Just in case I hear from him, can I tell him who was askin' for him?"

"Larson. Mark Larson."

That was one name that could be crossed off the list. In all truthfulness, Stu thought that Tony Duncan could be crossed off, too. The man wasn't the least bit violent, and to top it off, he hadn't threatened to kill Stu. That left Schulman, La Tour, Bass and Holmes, if he wasn't dead.

He looked at his watch. Four o'clock. By the time he got through traffic it would be closer to five, and he wanted to stop by Gil's office on the way back to the hotel. He pointed the DeSoto north and headed for Gil's office. This would be the real test, to see if any of Gil's officers recognized him.

It took him almost an hour to get to the North Hollywood station. He walked in and got no strange looks, but the desk Sargent gave him a hard time about asking to see the Lieutenant. Finally Gil came out of his office and rescued him. "So it looks like you passed the disguise test. I didn't think you had the nerve to come in here like that."

"You mean in my Mark Larson makeup? I have to admit, it was taking a chance. But I needed to see you, so I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter."

Gil sat down on his desk. "What was so important that it wouldn't wait?"

"Dennis Longstreet moved to Oregon, lock, stock and barrel."

"Where did you get that?"

"From the horse's mouth. I talked to Jimmy Mack."

Gil nodded. "Yep, that's about as close as it gets."

"No word on Schulman, huh?"

"Not a peep."

"Alright, I'm going back to the hotel room. Let me know . . . "

"I will."

Stu left the office and headed back to the car. Meanwhile, somebody watched him from the upstairs catwalk.


	5. Chapter 5

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 5

"What did you mean come hungry?" Jeff asked his partner when Stu answered the door.

"Just what I said," Stu answered, who was still masquerading as Mark Larson. "I have to get out of here and go someplace. I'll explain everything, but let's get dinner first. This might be my last chance for a while."

"Where?" Jeff asked.

"The Corner Grill. It's about two blocks from here. I need a martini. And they make the best."

"Had a tough day, did we?" Jeff couldn't help but laugh. He'd been working on an insurance case all day, and so far he'd gotten nowhere.

Stu didn't say anything, which was highly unusual. That had his partner worried. It had to be a strain, walking around trying to be somebody else when you knew there was someone out there that wanted you dead. And the most difficult part was you didn't know just who it was.

"Do you want me to drive?" Jeff asked next.

"I think you better." There was a long pause before Stu continued. "Look Jeff, somebody's been following me all day. At least I think they have. And I need to know. I'll drive if you want me to, but if it's our man again we'd be safer if you drove."

"Then don't you think we ought to stay here? Until you know for sure?"

"No, there's only one way to find out."

"And what if he takes another shot at you?"

Stu shook his head. "I don't think he'd do that until he was sure it's really me."

Jeff sighed. "I don't suppose I can talk you out of this can I?"

"If you don't want to take the chance. . ."

"Get in the car."

They were seated at The Corner Grill and had their martinis before Stu said anything further. And even then Jeff had to prompt him. "When did you first think you were being followed?"

"After I got down on the docks in San Pedro. I couldn't catch anybody, though, so I thought maybe I was imagining it. But I'm sure there was somebody at the police station keeping a close eye on me."

"At Gil's office?"

"No, after I left there. Somebody out in the dark watching me."

"Do you think it was the same person?"

"I don't know. I thought we'd have a better chance spotting a tail if we were both looking for one."

Jeff took another swallow of his drink. He hadn't been in the mood for a martini but he ordered one anyway, and now he was glad he had. The news that Stu thought someone was following him wasn't good . . . that meant they were out of time, and they weren't any closer to finding out who wanted Stu dead than they had been almost two weeks ago. Jeff was frustrated; he couldn't begin to imagine how his partner felt. "I think it's time you come out of hiding."

"I don't know . . . I suppose you're right. Being dead certainly hasn't helped me any, has it?"

"Well, you have managed to whittle down the potentially guilty parties. Has Gil found Schulman yet?"

Stu signaled the waiter for another round. "To answer your question, no, there's still no sign of Schulman. I'm beginning to think he's the most likely suspect. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part, because if it isn't him I have no idea who it could be." _That's not entirely true_, Stu thought to himself. _I have a good idea who it could be, if he were still alive. But that seems to be the problem. He's not._

"Do you want to come stay at my place for a while?" Jeff was sincere. He certainly didn't want his partner to end up dead for real. Losing Stu would be like losing an arm. He could get along just fine with only one, but he didn't want to.

Stu shook his head. "Thanks, I appreciate that, but it won't do any good. It might put you in danger, and I don't want to take that chance."

"Where do we go from here?"

"I'm going to check out of the hotel and go home. We stay away from me until we've got some kind of resolution."

Jeff didn't look happy with that answer. "You know what you're doing? You're forcing his hand."

Stu didn't look any happier than his partner. "I know. But I can't sit around any longer, and it's the only thing I can think of."

"Do you want me to notify the papers you're alive?"

That was a question that Stu didn't have a good answer for. "No, let them pick it up on their own. If they come around with questions, I'll give them answers."

They sat in silence for the next few minutes, finishing their drinks. Finally Stu asked, "Do you want another?"

"Not if I want to walk out of here on my own," was Jeff's succinct answer.

"I thought I wanted dinner, but to tell you the truth I don't much feel like it. But you can eat if you want to," Stu volunteered.

"I don't feel like food either. Let's get out of here," was Jeff's suggestion.

Stu paid the check and the two men left. They walked carefully back to the car but neither could see anything out of the ordinary. Jeff parked as close as he could to the front door of the hotel and they sat for a minute before getting out. "Did you see anything that looked like a car following us?" Stu asked.

"No. There was nobody behind us."

"I suppose I could have been imagining it."

Jeff shook his head. "I don't think so. You're usually really good about picking that up."

They exited the convertible and headed for the hotel door. Stu was ahead of Jeff, and just as they got to the entrance two distinct shots rang out. Jeff pulled his gun, searching for the shooter, but the only thing he saw out of the corner of his eye was Stu going down. Unable to spot anything in the dark, Jeff holstered his weapon and ran to his partner. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that one bullet had missed entirely and the second just grazed Stu's forehead. It was, however, enough to render him unconscious.

Hotel employees came running outside, horrified that their hotel should be the place for a shooting. Everyone was frantically asking him questions and Jeff hurriedly gave them instructions.

"Don't call an ambulance. Call Lieutenant Gilmore in Homicide. The phone number is Gary 62467. NO, we don't need an ambulance, the bullet just grazed him. It's an ongoing case, we're Private Investigators. Can somebody get me a damp towel?" And when it arrived, "Thanks. Did you get Gilmore?"

That question was answered in the affirmative, and as Jeff wiped the streak of blood off the side of Stu's head a pair of dark eyes slowly opened. "Well, partner, I think you flushed him out."

"Yeah," was the only answer he got.


	6. Chapter 6

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 6

Lieutenant Gilmore arrived at the hotel some twenty minutes later. By that time Stu was lying on the bed, a wet washcloth on his forehead. Jeff had just finished giving the wounded man two aspirin and removing what remained of the Mark Larson disguise. Stu was in for a terrible headache, but he was a lucky man. Both shots had been wide of their mark.

"How is he?" Gil asked as he came through the door.

"He's been better," Stu called from the bed.

"He's been worse, too," Jeff added as he closed the door.

"Tell me what happened." It was an order as much as it was a request. The detective in Gilmore had taken over, and Jeff hoped that somehow they could get to the bottom of this.

Jeff explained everything, from the time he got to the hotel until just before Gil arrived. "Are you sure you were being followed or did you just assume it in light of what happened?"

"I was being followed on the docks. I'm certain of that." Stu tried to sit up and thought better of it.

"And at the precinct?" Gil needed to know if he had a spy at the precinct.

"No solid evidence, just a feeling."

"It's obvious that whoever this is knows you're alive," Gil sounded discouraged . . . everything they'd gone through to try and flush the killer out, and it had gotten them nowhere. They were right back where they started.

"Well, not exactly." This time Stuart succeeded in sitting up.

"What does that mean?" Jeff asked, puzzled.

"We've narrowed it down to Stanley Schulman."

Gil shook his head. "I'm afraid not, my friend. I didn't get the word until after you'd left tonight. Stanley Schulman died of a heart attack late last year. That leaves us with no one."

"Oh." It was the only thing Stu could think of to say.

"I guess I'll ask the same question I asked earlier tonight. Now what?" Jeff, like Gil, was at a loss. They were dependent on Stu to give them something to go on. And everything he'd given them so far hadn't panned out, yet somebody was still trying to kill him.

"Isn't there anyone else, Stu? Somebody that you haven't told us about?" That was Gil's only hope now, that Stu had forgotten someone that still had it in for him. He watched his friend carefully, the way he'd watch a perp, but nothing showed on Stu's face but extreme frustration.

"No, Gil, there isn't." But there was, and Stu just wouldn't, or couldn't, admit it. Binny was dead. Stu had killed him a long time ago. Hadn't he?

_It was seven or eight years ago, not too long after he'd returned to California, but before he met Jeff Spencer. He was working as a P.I. with an office in Beverly Hills, trying to make a go of it on his own. Some months were good, some were bad, and sometimes he just barely made ends meet. He'd gotten a case from Pacific Insurance Company, a diamond smuggling case, and he was determined to catch the crooks. Or crook, as it turned out. Binny Carroll, big-time mobster in the numbers racket, had decided to branch out. Binny's crew robbed a diamond importer in Downtown LA with the intention of smuggling the diamonds out of the country and selling them in Europe, where the price for the gemstones had reached astronomical proportions. There was only one flaw in his plan. Stuart Bailey._

_One by one Stu tracked down Binny's cohorts and turned them over to the police. When it came to catching Binny himself, however, the mobster proved more elusive than all of his gang put together. Stu finally got a tip from a snitch and caught Binny on the docks in San Pedro. Carroll wasn't about to give up without a fight, and Stu was more than willing to give him one. When the smoke cleared Stu had three bullets in him and Binny was dead._

_Stu was rushed to the hospital and it was touch and go for a while. The most troublesome bullet was the one in his right shoulder, and when the doctors finally got that out they still had to contend with one to the left elbow and another to the right ankle. Stu was in the hospital for over a month and then spent the next month in therapy. When he was ready to go back to work he'd lost his office and decided to move north to Hollywood and the Sunset Strip. He'd met another P.I. while in rehab and they'd struck up an acquaintance._

_Jeff Spencer was visiting a friend when he ran into Stu, literally, and they began talking. Jeff was light to Stu's dark, yin to Bailey's yang, and they were the unlikeliest pair, which meant they were perfect together._ _When Jeff heard the whole story of Stu's involvement with Binny he took it upon himself to verify the racketeer's death with the police department. He even went so far as to visit Binny's grave._

_By the time Stu was ready to come home for good it was Jeff that brought him back from the hospital, and they cemented their friendship by deciding to go into business together. Thus Bailey and Spencer, Private Investigators, was born._

_With the passing years the business and their reputations grew, and they became as close as brothers. Through thick and thin, no matter what happened, they had each other's backs._

Jeff and Gil were doing everything they could to keep him alive. It was time to tell them his suspicions, even if they did sound crazy. After all, how could a dead man hurt you?

"Uh, Gil, I haven't been completely honest with you and Jeff. There is another man that could want me dead. Binny Carroll."

That pronouncement was met with complete silence, from both Gil and Jeff. Finally Spencer spoke up. "Binny's dead, Stu. You killed him. Remember, I checked with the police after we met? I even went to the cemetery and saw his grave."

"Like somebody could have seen my memorial service, Jeff? Look, I know it sounds crazy, but he's the only one that would go this far to have me killed. Everybody else has checked out."

Gil had been thinking, and at last he spoke. "It makes sense, Stu. If Binny went to New York after he 'died', he could have been alive all this time just waiting for the right moment, when enough time had passed that he couldn't possibly be suspected. What made you think of him?"

"He's the only one that hated me enough to pull off this elaborate ruse. Even if he was supposed to be dead." Stu reached up and held his head in his hands; it hurt like hell. It wasn't anybody's fault but his own that it had gone on this long. He'd given Carroll two chances to even the score, and through luck or good fortune both had failed. He wasn't about to give him a third chance.

Gil got up to leave. "I'm going back to the precinct and put out feelers to New York and New Jersey. I'll let you know what I find out. And Jeff, get him checked out of here and take him home. Two more aspirin wouldn't hurt, either." With that, the Lieutenant left.

Jeff shook his head. "You know what that means, don't you?"

"Somebody at the Beverly Hills precinct was in on it," Stu answered. "Look, go check me out of here while I pack. I want to go home."

"There's no food at your place, just a bottle of scotch and two bottles of vodka."

"That'll do, my friend, that'll do."


	7. Chapter 7

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 7

Stuart Bailey's being alive and the reason for the subterfuge didn't make front-page news the way his 'death' did. As a matter of fact, it was buried somewhere on page 5 of the local papers. Stu was sitting in his office reading the Los Angeles Times when Jeff arrived at work some three days later. Stu had spent the better part of those days calling his friends and clients and explaining why. . . he wasn't dead.

"Aren't you just about out of calls to make?" Jeff asked when he brought in two cups of coffee and two muffins.

"I wish," was the reply he got.

"How many people do you know?"

"Too many, evidently," Stu answered with a chuckle.

"This feels right," Jeff affirmed as he sat in his partner's office.

"I agree."

"Have you heard from Gil yet?"

"Nothing firm, just preliminary information."

"And?"

"There was a Bobby Clyde in New York who might be our man. He's disappeared recently, and Gil's trying to get a picture of him."

"And if that's Binny? Have you thought that far ahead?"

Stu nodded before taking another swallow of coffee. "We set a trap."

"Using what for bait? You?" Jeff knew the answer before he asked the question.

"I'm the only thing he's after."

"He's tried to kill you twice. What makes you think he won't succeed when he's given a third chance?" There was anger in Spencer's voice; it was like asking his brother to commit suicide.

"Jeff . . ." Stu couldn't be mad at his partner, Jeff was just trying to keep him alive.

"NO. I won't be part of it."

"You don't have to be. But I can't live the rest of my life wondering when the bullets coming. I won't."

The problem was, that sentiment made perfect sense to Jeff. If it was him the killer was after he'd feel the same way. "Then we just have to find another way to lure him out."

"How are we going to do that?" Stu asked, a note of pleading in his voice.

"I don't know, but there has to be another way. There has to be."

A sigh escaped the older man. "You let me know when you figure one out."

Jeff left for his office and Stu went back to making his phone calls. It was more than an hour later when the intercom buzzed. "Yes, Suzanne?"

"Lieutenant Gilmore on line two."

"Thank you." Stu picked up line two. "Yes, Gil. No, I'm still making mea culpas to people. I know. I know. I've already had this conversation with Jeff. Have you found anything . . . you did. Of course it's a match. No, I was hoping, but not expecting. I don't know, Gil. I'll let you know when I do. Good. Thanks." When Stu looked up Jeff was standing in the doorway. "Gil got the photo from New York. It's Binny, all right. And before you start on me again, Gil told me the same things. But that still doesn't give me an alternative."

Jeff's voice was totally different than it had been earlier. "I'm sorry I got mad at you this morning. I just don't want . . . I don't want to bury you for real. I don't think I could stand that."

"I know. Believe me, I know." Stu thought back to the Eastmill Paper case, and how he felt when he was sure Jeff had been blown up, along with The Smiling Lady and everyone else aboard the boat. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, must less his partner. "We'll think of something. Let's go to Dino's for lunch. That's where we do our best thinking, anyway. What do you say?"

Jeff smiled that brilliant smile. "I'd say you've got a date."

XXXXXXXX

Harry grinned that lopsided grin from behind the bar when they walked in. He sent Johnny over to their regular table with two vodka gimlets, causing Stu to wave at him. "Glad to see you back, Mr. Bailey."

"Thanks, Harry."

They sat down and started on their gimlets. It was the first time Stu had been in since his miraculous resurrection, and it felt good. "Lunch, gentlemen?" Johnny asked before he left the table.

"In a bit, Johnny," Jeff told the waiter, who nodded and went back to the bar. "We need a way to draw him out."

"That's the problem, Jeff. He' not going to show his hand unless he's got a chance to get me."

"The question is, who's the shooter, Binny or his hired assassin?"

"It was the assassin at Warner Brothers. That was a professional hit. Three shots right to the heart. But I'd almost bet you it was Binny at the hotel. Both shots were wide. That means he's gotten impatient. That plays to our advantage."

Jeff signaled Johnny for another round. "How hungry are you?"

"Not very," Stu answered. "How about appetizers?"

"Works for me. Johnny, bring us an appetizer platter. The big one."

"The big one?" Bailey asked.

"Yes," Spencer answered. "You don't get enough shrimp on the small one."

Stu looked thoughtful. "Enough shrimp . . . "

"Did I say something wrong?"

"Just the opposite. You've given me an idea."

Jeff chuckled. "I'm glad the shrimp and me could be helpful."

"No, listen . . . "


	8. Chapter 8

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 8

"Can we try it, Gil? I'll be a whole lot more protected than I would be otherwise." Stu had been trying to convince the Lieutenant for twenty minutes that the plan would work. "If you don't want to go along with the plan I'll just have to go out there by myself and wait for him to try and kill me."

Jeff was standing in the doorway between the two offices listening to Stu maneuver the Lieutenant. Stu had promised he would explain everything if he could get Gil to go for the plan, and it sounded like his partner was succeeding.

"Hey, the choice is yours. A reasonable chance we'll catch Binny or a reasonable chance he'll kill me. Which one shall it be, Lieutenant Gilmore?" Stu had finally pulled out the big gun. When he called Gil 'Lieutenant Gilmore' it usually meant Stu was winning the argument, and he'd just supplied the finishing touch. "Uh-huh. Alright. I'll get back to you with the details. Soon, I promise. Yes. Goodbye."

"Sounds like Gil caved." It wasn't a question. Jeff knew Stu had talked the police Lieutenant into it. "So now let me in on it."

"Hang on a minute. Suzanne, is Roscoe out there? Good, send him in."

In just a minute Roscoe appeared. Stu didn't waste any time. "Roscoe, I want you to spread a rumor for me."

"How big a rumor?"

"A big one. I want you to let it be known that a quarter of a million dollars in diamonds are being shipped from LA to New York. Only the manifest doesn't say diamonds. The manifest says fresh-frozen shrimp. They're in a box about the size of a breadbox. They're being shipped on Friday from Pier 23. I'm delivering the box to the Pier. You got that?"

"Shrimp, diamonds, breadbox, 23, Friday, Stu Bailey. I'll spread the word, boss."

Jeff finally sat down in Stu's office. "Fresh-frozen shrimp, huh? Did you have fun selling that idea to Gil?"

"You heard me. A reasonable chance we'll catch Binny or a reasonable chance he'll kill me. At least Gil can have men stationed all around Pier 23. I've got better odds than I had with the Shiekh."

"I'm going to be there."

"Jeff . . ."

"Don't 'Jeff' me. I'm going to be there. I can be just as convincing a dock worker as any of Gil's men. And, for the record, I think it's a terrible idea. And it was mine. Sort of. Call this off, would you? We'll find him without you risking your life like this."

"I told you how I feel. I need this over with. And on Friday it will be."

_One way or the other_, Jeff thought_. _"Alright, if you're going ahead with this crazy idea, the least I can do is be there to help. And don't think there's anything you can say to change my mind."

"I wouldn't think of it, Jefferson."

XXXXXXXX

"I've got a dozen men on Pier 23, not counting Jeff and myself. Everybody knows what Binny looks like, so there shouldn't be any way he can slip past us." Gil was laying everything out for Stu the next day at the precinct. "Here, look at this map." There was a large map on the wall behind Gil's desk, and that's what he pointed to now. "My men are going to be stationed here, here, here, and here. Jeff's going to be right behind you, here, and I'll be at the pier office, here. There's a warrant out for Bobby Clyde in New York, so as soon as we spot him we can arrest him. You don't have to play hero."

"I have no intention of playing hero, Gil. All I want to do is stay alive," Stu sounded adamant.

"I think we've got the pier pretty well covered. The rest of the squad is out towards the street, so we can catch him coming in."

"What if he doesn't come in, Gil? What if he's already there, somewhere on the docks. What then?"

"I've got another four or five covering the surrounding piers. If we see him, we'll catch him."

_That's what I'm afraid of,_ Stu thought_. That you won't see him. _"I think you've got it pretty well covered. Now we just have to hope he takes the bait."

"There's no doubt he'll know about it, Stu. My men are already hearing rumblings on the street about the shipment. Roscoe did an excellent job getting the story started."

"He's a good man, Gil. Remember that we've got a good crew at Bailey and Spencer."

"Don't make it sound so final, Stu. This is going to end the way it should . . . with Binny Carroll finally in custody."

_I just hope I'm alive to see it, _was the thought that ran through Stu's mind_._

XXXXXXXX

Stu spent the rest of the week cleaning up paperwork on completed cases. He wanted everything finished, so that Jeff wouldn't have his 'leftovers' to face if this should all go wrong. Then he reviewed his will, making sure it was all in order. There were cash bequests to Suzanne and Roscoe, and a five percent ownership with certain caveats to Kookie. The rest of everything was left to Jeff. Then he slipped it in a manila envelope, sealed it and wrote 'Jeff Spencer' on the front of it. After that came the hardest part.

"Suzanne, can you come in here a moment, please," he buzzed through the intercom. The two of them were alone in the office; Kookie was parking cars, Roscoe was at the track, and Jeff was working on a case. He wasn't taking any chances, though. "Close the door, please."

Suzanne took a seat in front of Stu's desk. "I want you to do something for me, and I know it's asking a lot," he started. "If something happens on Friday, something that shouldn't happen, I want you to give this to Jeff. He's going to need your help more than ever, both at the office, and . . .well, anything you can do for him. If it all goes as planned, you can give this back to me on Monday. I'm counting on you, Suzanne, to be here if I can't be. Do you have any questions?"

"No, Stuart." She took the envelope, got up from her chair, and walked around the desk. Then she bent down and kissed Stu on the cheek. "I will take care of him, I promise."

Stu let out a sigh as she opened the door and went back to her switchboard. He'd done everything he needed to do. Now all he could do was wait.


	9. Chapter 9

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 9

Wednesday crawled by slowly, and Thursday crawled even slower. Stu and Jeff went to dinner at Dino's Thursday night and had steaks and Vodka Gimlets, and talked about everything except Friday. When they left to go to their cars, Jeff stopped his partner. "Stu . . ." he began.

"I know, Jeff."

They hugged, expressing all the emotion physically that they couldn't express verbally. When they broke apart Jeff told Stu, "Good luck tomorrow."

"Same to you," came the reply. They got in their cars and each man went home to lie awake and wonder what tomorrow would bring.

XXXXXXXX

Stu fell asleep around midnight, much to his surprise the next morning_. I guess it's because I've taken care of everything, _Stu thought as he showered. He shaved, brushed his hair and went to see what was in his closet. He needed something dark to help disguise the bulletproof vest that Gil had given him two days ago. It was probably unnecessary; after the incident at Warner Brothers Carroll would most likely be aiming for the head.

He checked his gun one more time to make sure it was loaded and put six extra cartridges in his coat pocket, then secured the firearm in the hideout holster and attached the holster to his belt. Then his coat, finally; he felt like he was wearing a suit of armor. He wished he was.

His stomach couldn't stand the thought of food, so coffee had to serve as breakfast. Once that was finished he grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Before he opened it he looked around the apartment one more time; would he ever see it again? _Quit driving yourself crazy, Stuart,_ he thought as he went out the front door.

He got to the office and found Jeff's car in the parking lot . . . it seemed his partner was as nervous as he was. He went in the side door and found the wrapped package that was supposed to be the diamonds; it all looked official. He crossed over to the door that separated their offices and opened it. For once Jeff wasn't smiling. "Hey, good morning," Stu greeted him.

"Good morning yourself. You in the mood for coffee? I told Tony we'd come over." Tony was the chef at Dino's. He provided coffee to Bailey and Spencer whenever they needed it. This morning they needed it.

Fifteen minutes and two cups of coffee later and they were back in the office. Jeff sat down in front of Stu's desk. "That's an official-looking package," Jeff remarked.

"That's just what I thought."

"What time are you going to leave here?"

"Around eleven," came the reply from Stu. "That should give me enough time to get down there."

"Then I'll leave around ten. I want to make sure that I'm all set before Binny's got a chance to show."

"Gil should have his men in place by the time you get there. Wouldn't it be funny," Stu offered, "if after all this preparation Binny didn't take the bait."

"No," Jeff replied. "It wouldn't be funny at all."

"No, I guess it wouldn't."

Jeff went back to his office and they both tried to work. The time passed slowly, but finally it was ten o'clock and Jeff was just about to leave. He'd changed into jeans and a plaid shirt with a windbreaker to hide his gun and holster. He stopped in Stu's doorway on his way out. "Good luck, dad."

"You too, junior. I'll see you when this is all over."

"Yeah," was Jeff's answer. _I hope to God,_ he thought on the way out.

Once he was sure Jeff was gone Stu got up and left his office. "I'm going for a walk, Suzanne. I'll be back before eleven." Out the door and down the street he went. The furthest he had ever walked was down to the sandwich shop. He went past that now, looking in store windows that he didn't even know existed before. Anything to get his mind off what lay ahead of him sometime after twelve o'clock today. The only problem was, it wasn't helping. The lone thing on his mind was Binny Carroll, and how he was going to have to deal with a man that he'd already killed.

He kept walking, down Sunset Strip and back up again, doing anything to kill time. _Ha_, he thought, _kill time_. That was actually funny if you thought about it. These might be the last minutes he was alive, and he was making jokes. Jokes that only he was laughing at. What had he done with his life? There was a girl . . . a long time ago. Even back before Binny. A girl he loved and wanted to marry. She said she wanted to marry him, too. But then she changed her mind. And now he was walking on Sunset all by himself, wondering if he was going to live or die. He looked at his watch. He'd been walking for almost an hour. Time to hurry back to the office, pick up his keys and the box, and head for whatever fate had in store for him.

Words of farewell to Suzanne, then Kookie had his car ready for him. The time to think was over; it was time to act. There were no more doubts, he was sure of what he had to do. If it was kill or be killed, he knew which one he preferred.

XXXXXXXX

"Binny, don't do this," the girl said to him. "We've got more money than we can ever spend. You don't need to pull this heist."

"I gotta do this, doll. It's a quarter of a million dollars. Besides, it might be my last chance to get Bailey." Binny was packing two guns and extra bullets; if he had the opportunity to kill Bailey he wasn't going to miss this time. "Think of what we could do with a quarter of a million. Nah, it's too good a chance to give up."

"What if it's a trap? Have you thought of that?" the girl whined.

"I'll know if it's a trap. Besides, the cops ain't smart enough to set up anything I can't get out of. Quit 'cher worryin'."

What the girl said was true. Binny didn't need to pull this heist. But he couldn't let it go . . . the real temptation was Bailey. He wanted Bailey dead so bad he could almost taste it. The things he had to do to stay alive . . . and the driving force behind that struggle was Bailey. Always Bailey. He hated Bailey's guts with a feeling so deep he couldn't even put it into words. How many times had he tried to have the bastard killed? And how many times had he failed? Well, no more. He'd do it himself.

Binny Carroll looked in the mirror. He was bald and clean-shaven. He'd take care of that. A red wig with lots of curls, a reddish mustache, and glasses. He looked in the mirror again, and the man looking back at him didn't look like Binny Carroll at all. He looked like a nice man, a man that could be a dockworker, or a clerk in a drugstore, or a fisherman. In fact, he could be almost anything. He smiled, then turned away from the mirror and put on his jacket.

He walked back out into the front room, where the girl was sitting on the sofa. "Binny!" she gasped.

"So long, gal. When I come back we'll be rich beyond our wildest imaginations. And Bailey will be dead."


	10. Chapter 10

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 10

Jeff was leaning casually against a giant crate, smoking a cigarette and looking like he didn't have a care in the world. That was the image he was supposed to project, and he was doing his very best to make sure that's just what he looked like – a dockworker on a cigarette break. He'd smoke one or two, then disappear around the back of the crate where he couldn't be seen for a few minutes, before resuming his position. He had his eyes wide open, searching for Binny Carroll, or any man wearing a disguise that could be Binny. So far he'd had no luck.

He looked at his watch. Five minutes to twelve, Stu would be here in just a few minutes. Would Binny? That was the big question, and he couldn't be sure. All he could do was keep watching and waiting. Jeff thought he heard something and was tempted to turn his head. No, he shouldn't. That was exactly the wrong thing to do. Stay calm and cool and just keep smoking. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Stu approaching, more than 100 yards away. There was no sign of anyone else.

Menawhile, Gil sat in the Pier 23 office pretending to do paperwork. He could clearly see Jeff, leaning up against a huge crate and smoking a cigarette. He was dressed in jeans, a plaid shirt and a windbreaker. If the Lieutenant didn't know better he'd take him for just another dockworker on a break.

And then, in the distance, he saw a figure walking towards the office. A figure carrying a box. He knew it had to be Stu, and for just a mount Gil wanted to jump up and shout "No!" Outside of the precinct, the two private investigators were just about the best friends he had. He hadn't wanted this trap set with Stu as the bait, but the man himself had insisted.

Binny parked all the way across the docks, close to Pier 46. He got out of the car, made sure he had the gun in his hand and his hand in his jacket pocket, and began his walk. He had a long way to go, but by the time he got close to Pier 23 if there was anyone watching they'd figure him for just another worker looking for the next pier.

He was so excited he could hardly contain himself. It wasn't every day that he had the chance to pick up a quarter of a million dollars. Not to mention the bonus of seeing Stuart Bailey dead. Finally. There was no doubt in his mind that he would kill Bailey. How could he not? He'd never be recognized in the wig and glasses. Which would give him the chance to do what he'd been unable to have done thus far.

Stu drove carefully down the 5 Freeway. The last thing he wanted was a traffic accident. When he got to San Pedro his heart was pounding but it was from adrenalin and not fear. He found a parking space and pulled in, then got out of the car and tried to adjust the vest without being seen by anyone. Gil, Jeff, and almost every detective in the North Hollywood precinct would be in their assigned spaces, waiting for the two protagonists to show up. Stu hoped they wouldn't disappoint.

He walked around to the passenger door, opened it, and got the box out of the car. It was packed full of raw fish, designed specifically to slow down any bullets that might penetrate it. He carried the box under his left arm so he could get to his gun in a hurry if he had to. Then he started his walk towards the Pier 23 office. It looked to be a long way away from where he'd parked.

But he kept going, hoping with every step that Binny would show up. So far he'd seen two or three of Gil's detectives and a stray dockworker or two. For a Friday morning, things were unusually quiet. Then he spotted Jeff leaning against a crate smoking, and he knew that Gil would be watching him from the pier office. There was another man approaching Gil's position, from way across the far side of the docks. Stu tried not to stare, so he only caught a brief glimpse of the man, but he had a full head of red, curly hair and glasses, and at this distance didn't look like Binny Carroll. It could be Binny in disguise, Stu had to remind himself, and shifted the box he was carrying to directly in front of him. In doing so his bullet-proof vest rode up higher than it should. He almost felt silly, carrying a box of fish. He wouldn't feel silly if they saved his life.

At the same moment Stu saw him, Jeff noticed the stranger approaching from the other end of the docks. The only things recognizable were red hair and glasses and Jeff needed time to see more, so he lit another cigarette. Spencer tried to get a better look at the man, but the figure was still too far away to see anything more than he'd already seen, and that wasn't enough to be sure if it was Stu Bailey's deadliest enemy or some poor soul that had accidentally walked into the trap. The only thing he could do until he was sure was continue smoking and try not to get caught paying attention.

The unidentified figure kept walking, getting closer to Jeff's position leaning up against the crate. Unfortunately, Stu was doing the same from the opposite direction. If the man with the red hair was indeed Binny, Spencer was watching his partner walk into range of a gunshot with every step he took. If only there had been some way to lure Carroll out without making Stu a target. But there hadn't been, no matter how hard they attempted to think of one, and in that moment Jeff knew Bailey had been right. Binny's hatred was so strong there was only one way to get to him . . . bate the trap with the approaching P.I.

Stu and the red-haired man each took another step, two, three, four of them. Bailey was close enough now, but the stranger seemed to hesitate; he waited while the P.I. took two more steps. Jeff spotted the stranger's right hand inside his coat pocket and knew there was a gun. From inside the office he heard Gil call out, "Hey! Binny Carroll!" and without thinking the man's head automatically came up. That's when he heard, "Halt! Police! You're under arrest!" and understood, at last, that it was the man they'd been waiting for, and that he'd walked into their carefully laid trap.

No one took a chance with Binny. Every police detective within range fired, as did Jeff and Gil, and there would be no doubt that Binny was dead. Jeff's heart stopped beating in his chest when he turned to Stu and saw Stu drop as Binny got off his single shot. "NO!" Jeff yelled, then thought _Dear God, please don't let him be dead_. It was the only thing he could think about as he closed the distance between the two of them.

Stu was face down on the concrete and Jeff could see blood, but he couldn't tell how much there was. He reached for Stu's wrist to check for a pulse and his heart didn't start beating until he found one. "Somebody get an ambulance!" he shouted, and less than a minute later he heard Gil's voice.

"There's one on the way. Where was he hit?"

Jeff had carefully turned his partner over; Stu was unconscious. "Looks like the wrist and the left abdomen. Bullet might have been deflected. Got a bad bruise on his forehead, that's probably the cause of his being unconscious. Please tell me Carroll's dead."

Gil looked grim for just a second as he told Jeff, "We made sure this time."

A siren began to wail in the distance, and Spencer listened to the sound getting ever closer. _Hurry up, boys,_ he thought, then out loud, "Hang on, partner. I don't want to lose you."

_That makes two of us_, thought Gil.


	11. Chapter 11

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 11

They were in the ambulance when Stu began to come to. He opened his eyes and saw that grin of Spencer's, and at least he knew he was still alive. "Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself. Sure glad to see you awake."

Stu heard the siren and asked the obvious. "Ambulance?"

"No, we're going to Disneyland. Yes, you're in an ambulance."

"How bad?"

"Not as bad as it could have been. But you won't be playing tennis for a while, pal."

"Binny?"

"Can you spell dead? No, seriously, really dead. I think every man at the pier emptied their clip into him. Including the Lieutenant. As Gil pointed out, Binny's not coming back from this shoot out."

The next thing Stu said was so soft that Jeff had to bend down to hear him. "Thanks, partner."

"You're welcome. And don't ever do that again."

"Promise." In just a few seconds Stu's eyes closed again and he had slipped back into unconsciousness.

"How far out are we?" Jeff asked the paramedic sitting across from him.

"Less than five minutes."

"I didn't lie to him, did I? That it wasn't as bad as it could have been?"

"You didn't lie to him."

When they got to the hospital, Jeff was sent to the surgical waiting room. He called Suzanne and told her Stu was in Sisters of Mercy Hospital in San Pedro, and that's where he would be for the foreseeable future. He went downstairs to the cafeteria and got a cup of coffee, then came back to the waiting room. He was surprised to find Gil there. "Didn't you have anything better to do?"

"I did," Gil answered, "but I thought I'd let Sergeant Flaherty do it instead. Any word yet?"

"Not so far. He came to for a few minutes in the ambulance, but that's about all."

They sat down to wait. It was almost five hours later before they saw anything of the surgeon. He entered the waiting room looking positively beat. "Mr. Spencer?"

"I'm Mr. Spencer." Jeff stood up.

"I'm Doctor Walters. Mr. Bailey is out of surgery and eventually should make a complete recovery. We were lucky. The bullet didn't perforate the colon. It took us a while to find it, but it's out now."

"Doctor Walters, this is Lieutenant Gilmore of the North Hollywood Division. He's a friend of mine and Stu's. What did you mean by eventually?" There was something about the way Doctor Walters worded his pronouncement that caught Jeff's attention.

"Well, we've run into a problem, Mr. Spencer."

"What kind of a problem, Doctor?"

"As you know, Mr. Bailey lost a good deal of blood as a result of his wounds."

"Yes?"

"Your friend needs a transfusion, and he has a fairly rare blood type."

Jeff seemed a trifle confused, and that's when Gil stepped in. "What blood type does Stu have, Doctor? And what aren't you telling us?"

"His blood type is AB Positive, Lieutenant. As I said, it's pretty rare. It means that we don't have any here at the hospital."

"What do you do then, Doctor?" Jeff re-entered the questioning.

"We look for it elsewhere."

"In California."

"We've already looked in California, Mr. Spencer. There isn't any available in the state."

Jeff didn't hesitate to ask the next question. "What now, Doctor?"

"Now we have to start calling the surrounding states."

"And if there is none available there?"

"We check in the rest of the states until we find some."

"What if there's none available in the United States, Doctor?" Gil questioned.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, I have another surgery scheduled. I'll send in Nurse MacIntyre to answer the rest of your questions."

It was a good ten minutes before a petite brunette with a dazzling smile joined them. "I'm Nurse MacIntyre. Doctor Walters said you gentlemen have some questions." For once in his life Jeff was less interested in the girl than what she had to say.

"I'm Jeff Spencer, Mr. Bailey's business partner. This is Lieutenant Gilmore. Doctor Walters explained about Stu having a rare type of blood and that it might be hard to find in California or the surrounding states. What then?"

"Then we try elsewhere in the country, Mr. Spencer."

"And if you can't find it anywhere in this country, Nurse MacIntyre?"

"Then we try Canada."

"What if . . . "

"I'm sure we'll find it, Mr. Spencer."

"What effect is this going to have on Stu?" Gil asked the unspoken question.

"None, after we find the matching blood and give him the transfusion."

"And until that happens?"

Nurse MacIntyre never lost that brilliant smile. "He's going to be on complete bed rest until he gets the transfusion."

Gil and Jeff looked at each other. "How much will this delay his recovery?"

"It depends entirely on how long it takes us to find compatible blood. If we find it within a day or two, it won't delay his recovery at all. If it takes us longer. . . "

Jeff gave the nurse his best smile, which had been dimmed somewhat by Stu's condition. "Thank you, Nurse MacIntyre."

"Have you gentlemen run out of questions?"

"Can you break the news to Stu?" Jeff asked, almost laughing.

"Doctor Walters will explain everything to Mr. Bailey."

"You're sure?" Again from Jeff.

"If he doesn't, I will."

Considering what Nurse MacIntyre looked like, Jeff thought that might be the better solution. No matter who told Stu about the potential delay, he wasn't going to be pleased. Jeff probably had two or three days before Stu would actually remember what he was told.

"Can we see him?" Gil inquired.

"He's in recovery right now. I'll come get you when we've transferred him to a room."

"Thank you, Nurse MacIntyre."

"Thank you."

When the nurse was gone, Gil looked at Jeff. "I hope neither of us is around when Stu finds out about his blood type or the delay in his recovery time. Because your partner is not going to be happy about it."

"You're telling me something I don't already know?"

"Listen, Jeff, I have to get back to the precinct. I'm sure Flaherty is about to tear his hair out. Give Stu my best, will you, and tell him I'll try to get down here again tomorrow, alright?"

"Sure thing, Gil. Thanks for all the help, and give my thanks to your squad for their help, too, would you?"

The two men shook hands and the Lieutenant left. Jeff sat for fifteen or twenty minutes before Nurse MacIntyre returned. "Mr. Spencer, Mr. Bailey is awake. If you would follow me. We have him in Intensive Care for the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

Jeff followed the nurse down the hall to the elevators, then up two floors to the Intensive Care floor. "He's in room 628. This way." Another minute and Jeff was there, at last. Stu's eyes were closed and he was as pale as Jeff had ever seen him.

"Hey, partner."

It took a few seconds for the eyes to open. "Jeff."

"That's me. How are you feeling?"

"Lousy."

Jeff smiled. "You're alive, Stu. That's more than I can say for Binny Carroll."

A tiny smile played around the corners of Stu's mouth. "Dead?"

"As the proverbial doorknob, my friend."

"You sure?"

"I wouldn't lie to you, Stu." He couldn't blame Stu for asking the question.

"Good."

"Is MacIntyre your nurse?"

Stu tried to shift positions but thought better of it. "No."

"That's a real shame," Jeff told him. "She's . . ." Jeff stopped talking when Stu's nurse came in and he got a look at her. Medium height, blonde hair, and a figure that would stop traffic at the Hollywood and Vine intersection. "Never mind."

"I'm here to give you an injection, Mr. Bailey."

Stu just smiled as the nurse pushed his left sleeve up, wiped a spot off with alcohol, and gave him the injection. She then turned to Jeff. "Are you Mr. Spencer?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm Nurse Forrester. I'll be taking care of Mr. Bailey while he's in Intensive Care."

"Nice to meet you, Nurse Forrester."

"Don't stay too long, Mr. Spencer."

Jeff nodded. "Yes, ma'am." Once the nurse was gone, Jeff turned back to Stu, who was still smiling. "Great view you've got there, Stu."

"Isn't she, though?"

"Gil was here. He stayed the whole time you were in surgery and didn't leave until we'd talked to the doctor. He said he'll try to get back tomorrow."

"Tell him, thank you."

"I already did, dad." Stu's eyes began to close and Jeff thought it was time to leave. "You need your rest. I'll be back in the morning. And I'll bring Suzanne with me. I promise."

There was no answer from the bed and Jeff knew Stuart was asleep. He tip-toed out of the room and stopped at the nurse's station where he spoke to Nurse Forrester. "Nurse, did Doctor Walters explain the blood issue to Stu?"

"He did, Mr. Spencer, but he told me he wasn't sure how much of it Mr. Bailey heard or understood."

"Thank you."

Jeff went to the elevator and took it down to the ground floor. He was about to catch a cab back to Pier 23 and his car until he spotted the convertible in the hospital parking lot. _Thanks, Gil,_ he thought as he got in and drove away. He would make sure that Stu knew about his blood type and the problems it was causing tomorrow. For the first time he realized how tired he was, and he couldn't wait to get home and kick off his shoes.


	12. Chapter 12

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 12

Jeff and Suzanne were almost to San Pedro before she asked him the question he'd been dreading. "How long will it take for Stuart to recover?"

"They weren't exactly sure."

"Were there complications?" Was her next question.

"Of a sort, yes." Jeff hoped his reply would satisfy her; it didn't.

"What kind of complications, Jeff?"

Jeff spent the rest of the trip telling Suzanne just what Doctor Walters and Nurse MacIntyre had told him. She was quiet and didn't interrupt; when he finished she had but one question. "Does Stuart know all this?"

"I don't think so. The doctor explained it to him but he wasn't in any state to remember it."

"I see. Well then, I think we must make sure that Stuart knows what is happening, and what to expect."

"I'm not sure he's going to be in any condition to understand or remember it today, either." Jeff knew, from personal experience, that it was likely Stu would still be groggy at least today.

Once the car was parked and they were in the hospital, Jeff stopped at the receptionist to find out if Stu was still in Intensive Care. "Yes, sir, Mr. Bailey is still in room 628."

They rode up to the sixth floor in the elevator and went straight to 628. Dr. Walters was just coming out of the room. "Mr. Spencer, we haven't found any matching blood for Mr. Bailey yet. It's only a matter of time, however. And who is this charming young lady?" the doctor asked as he shook hands with Suzanne.

"Suzanne Fabry, this is Dr. Walters. Dr. Walters, our secretary and friend, Suzanne Fabry."

"Doctor, may I ask you a question?" Suzanne Inquired.

"Certainly, Miss Fabry," Dr. Walters seemed more than willing to be helpful.

"Does Stuart understand what is happening with your search for compatible blood?"

The doctor looked glum. "I don't believe so, ma'am. I don't think he's comprehending much beyond pain and sleep right now."

"Thank you, Doctor Walters."

Suzanne and Jeff entered Stu's room. His eyes were shut and he was lying on his right side, with his arm across the pillow. Suzanne leaned over and brushed hair out of his eyes. They opened almost immediately.

"Hello, Stuart," Suzanne greeted him.

A brief smile flickered on his face. "Mademoiselle Fabry."

Suzanne sat in the chair by his bed and Jeff pulled another chair from the far side of the room. "I'm here, Stu," Jeff told him.

"Jefferson," was Stu's answer.

"How are you feeling?" Suzanne asked.

"Not bad. Just got pain shot."

Jeff glanced at Suzanne. "Have you ever had a pain shot?"

"No."

"You feel warm all over. Then this feeling of euphoria comes over you. And for 5 or 10 minutes nothing hurts. And then ever so slowly it all comes back to you, every bit of pain you were feeling."

"It sounds terrible."

"It's not," Stu affirmed with a sigh.

"And how often do you get these awful things?"

"Oh, every couple of hours or so."

"Stuart, do you remember what the doctor told you about your blood?" Suzanne looked at Jeff and then Stu, waiting to see if there was any acknowledgment of the doctor's talk.

"Uh, something about . . . no."

"I told you, honey, he's not going to remember for two or three days. At the least."

"Then you must promise me that you will tell him when he will remember."

"If he's lucky, we won't need to tell him."

They stayed for three hours, Suzanne reading to Stuart from a book of French poetry, while Jeff went down to the cafeteria and got them both coffee. Stu got an antibiotic and Jeff attempted to flirt with Nurse Forrester, to no avail. Finally he got another pain shot and went to sleep almost immediately. Jeff figured that was a good time to leave. Stu needed rest as much as he needed anything. 

Just as they were leaving a giant flower display arrived at the nurse's station. Jeff read the card aloud: "To Stu Bailey, from the detectives at North Hollywood and Lieutenant Gilmore. Get well soon, Gumshoe."

"That was sweet of them," Suzanne declared.

"It was very nice. And very unnecessary," Jeff replied.

"Why unnecessary?"

"Because I'm not sure he'll be awake long enough to remember them."

The drive back to Hollywood was a lot noisier than the one to San Pedro had been. There was more traffic and Jeff and Suzanne did more talking. By the time Jeff pulled the convertible into Dino's parking lot, Kookie was on duty. "Say Jeff, how's dad?" Kookie asked.

"In pain and looking for some blood."

"You know man, sometimes I just don't dig you."

"That's alright, Kookie," Jeff laughed. "Sometimes I don't dig you either."

Roscoe was answering the switchboard and was glad to see Suzanne. "Hiya, Frenchy. Hi Jeff. How's the boss?"

"About as well as can be expected, Roscoe."

"You wanna translate that for me, Jeff?"

Jeff walked to his office. "Come in and bring the phone messages."

While Jeff looked over his and Stu's phone messages he explained what was going on with Stu to Roscoe. He thought about half of it went over Roscoe's head. "Ask Suzanne if you have questions. I have to return phone calls."

And that's what Jeff spent the rest of the morning doing.


	13. Chapter 13

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 13

Jeff left the office at seven o'clock and drove straight to San Pedro. The receptionist informed him that Mr. Bailey had been moved out of Intensive Care and into room 422. Once there he found a new nurse in the room. Another blonde, this one a little chunkier but just as good looking. Her name badge read _Lynn Avery, R.N._

"Nurse Avery, I'm Jeff Spencer, Stu's . . . "

"Yes, Mr. Spencer, Mr. Bailey was just moved down here about an hour ago."

"Have you . . . "

"Found any blood for him? Not yet, but we're calling the hospitals in New York now. Hopefully they'll have some available."

Jeff wondered if Nurse Avery always finished people's sentences for them, so he thought he'd try to find out. "Nurse Avery, would you . . . " There was dead silence for a moment, and then she burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Spencer. I tend to finish people's sentences for them. I thought you were pulling my leg, so to speak, so I just kept quiet. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"If you'd care to join me for coffee in the cafeteria?"

She smiled her best smile. "I'd love to. But I can't. Mr. Bailey needs my attention more than you do, I'm afraid." She picked up a wicked looking needle and gave Stu a shot in the left arm. "Antibiotics."

"Watch out for him, Avery," came from the patient. "Smooth talker."

"Well, sounds like you're a little more awake than you were the last time I saw you. At least you're out of Intensive Care." Jeff sat down next to the bed.

"Little bit. When were you here?"

"Don't you remember?"

Stu was quiet for almost a minute. "No."

"This morning, with Suzanne. She was reading you French poetry."

"Sort of remember the poetry."

"I was here with it."

"Oh," and Stu followed that with a big yawn.

"I see your flowers made it down here." The giant flower display was sitting on the bedside table. It had been joined in the room by two or three others. "And that you have other admirers."

"One's from Mimi." Mimi was Stu's most recent . . . friend.

"And the other?" Jeff asked

"Les at Warner Brothers."

"Do you mind?" Jeff asked as he picked up the card from one of the floral displays.

"Go ahead."

"Glad you finally nailed the guy. What took you so long? Get well soon, Les." He returned the card to its envelope. "Kookie says _get well, dad_ and Roscoe was blathering about some horse in the fifth at Santa Anita named Stuart's Pride. I guess that's as close to a get well from Roscoe as you're going to get."

"I'd laugh but it hurts."

Nurse Avery came back into the room with another needle. "Time for your pain shot, Mr. Bailey."

"That's my cue to leave," Jeff told his partner.

"Why?"

"Because you fall asleep after you get a pain shot. I don't want to watch you sleep. I need to go home and do some of it myself. I haven't slept a lot since this whole mess started."

"Sorry."

Jeff shook his head. "Not your fault. I understand why you did what you did."

"Good." Another yawn from Stu.

"Goodnight, dad."

"Night, Jeff."

Jeff yawned all the way home, but by the time he took a shower and got into bed he was wide awake. Or so he thought. He lay in bed for maybe five minutes before he fell asleep, and he dreamt the night away.

_Jeff was in the kitchen reading the morning paper. His wife was cooking breakfast for the family, and his children were running around screaming. A typical Saturday morning in the Spencer household. There was a story on Page 1 that had caught his eye and he didn't hear when he was summoned to breakfast._

'Private Investigator Killed in Police StingOperation_' Private Investigator Stuart Bailey was killed Friday night in a sting operation gone wrong, police spokesman Captain Roy Gilmore told reporters. Bailey was supposed to be covered by an officer . . ._

_Jeff folded up the paper and laid it on the table. He smiled at his wife when she set his breakfast in front of him, but something about the article bothered him. Something about Bailey . . . all three of his children finally sat down to breakfast with their father; as he was talking to Joey about his baseball game, Jeff remembered. Stuart Bailey had once, a long time ago, made Jeff an offer. An offer to go into partnership with him. That was right before his mother talked him into becoming an attorney. Being a lawyer was profitable, but boring, and he'd always kind of regretted not taking Bailey up on the offer. Now he wondered . . . would Stuart Bailey still be alive if he and Jeff were partners in a P.I. firm? Or would Jeff be just as dead as he was? He loved his wife and he adored his kids, but still . . ._

Jeff woke with a start and looked at the clock. Four in the morning. The room was dark, with just a sliver of moonlight coming through the blinds. He shook his head, not sure for a moment who he was or where he was – before he remembered. He had entered into a partnership with Stuart, who was thankfully still alive, and he had been asleep in his own bedroom. Alone. Which was perfectly fine, at least for now. "Thank you, God," Jeff Spencer, Private Investigator, whispered into his pillow as he drifted back to sleep . . .


	14. Chapter 14

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 14

Jeff called the nurse's station on the fourth floor before he left for the office. He asked about his partner and was told that Stu had a phone in his room now, and his extension was 4222. The next call Jeff made was, of course, to Stu, who answered on the third ring. "Time for you to wake up, Mr. Bailey. This is Mr. Spencer."

"I may kill you when I see you, Spencer."

"For waking you up at this time of the day?" That was a little extreme, even for Stu.

"For waking me up just as Nurse Forrester and I were going to . . ."

"I don't think I want to know."

"I'm awake."

"I think I figured that out. Listen, I'm going into the office this morning. And I'm leaving at a decent time tonight, so I'll be there as soon as I can. I'm sorry, but I've got an appointment today I can't miss."

"New client?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Alright, be mysterious."

Jeff laughed. "I'll tell you when I get there tonight."

"Alright. See you later." Stu hung up the phone just as Nurse Avery walked in. "Nurse Avery. What sadistic pleasure do you have for me this time?"

"How are we this morning, Mr. Bailey?" That same perky smile accompanied the question.

"I hurt, Miss Avery. When's my next pain shot?"

She checked his chart. "Not for another three hours, I'm afraid. Doctor is trying to get you off them as soon as possible. He'll be here shortly to talk to you." Stu made a face. "What's that for?" Avery asked.

"It's never good when the doctor comes in to talk to you first thing in the morning. What's wrong, Avery?"

"Nothing, Mr. Bailey. Everything is coming along as well as can be expected."

"Those are not good words, nurse. What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing, Mr. Bailey. Really, I . . . Doctor Johnson will talk to you."

"Avery . . .?" Stu looked up and the nurse was gone. Now he had to wait for Doctor Johnson to explain to him what was going on. It was another thirty or forty minutes later before Doctor Johnson poked his head in the door.

"Mr. Bailey. Nurse Avery tells me you are much more coherent today than when you first came down to us."

"Coherent enough to start asking questions, Doctor." The tone of his voice was different, for the first time since he'd been brought into the hospital. It was what his partner called "the Stuart Bailey voice." It was strong, and smooth, with just a hint of danger in it. "What wouldn't Avery tell me?"

"Are you aware of your blood type, Mr. Bailey?"

"You mean the fact that I'm AB Positive? I'm aware."

"Have you ever needed a transfusion in the past?" Doctor Johnson was feeling his way carefully. He'd heard the voice and the last thing he wanted was to upset or distress the patient in any manner.

"Once . . . they had to get the blood from another hospital."

"In California?"

"Yes, why?"

"We're having trouble locating any blood with your AB Positive blood type."

"You mean in this state?"

"I mean anywhere, Mr. Bailey. In the United States."

"Can't I get along without it?" Now the tone had changed. It was softer, more confused. Any other time in his life, Stu probably knew the answer to that question. But he was still not totally himself, and something about this whole thing wasn't making sense.

"No, Mr. Bailey, you can't. You need the blood to function, to walk around, to do your job. And we haven't been able to find it. So far."

"Where do you look now?"

"In Canada. In the meantime, we can't proceed with the way we would normally manage your recovery."

"Which means what, Doctor?"

"It means that you are confined to that bed until we find the blood you need."

"Define confined, please."

"You cannot get out of bed for anything, Mr. Bailey. Not anything. If you did it could kill you."

Stu thought it over for a moment. "Well, you've made your point, Doctor Johnson. Is there anything Ican do to expedite the search?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, sir, nothing I can think of. If you're a religious man, you might try praying."

"I'll take that under advisement, Doctor."

As soon as Doctor Johnson left, Stu called Jeff. "Stuart, what's up?" Jeff suspected he knew why Stu was calling, but, on the off chance he might be wrong, he assumed nothing.

"I just finished talking to the doctor, Jefferson."

"Uh-huh. What did he have to say?" Jeff didn't like where this conversation was headed. He couldn't imagine that Stu was very happy about what he'd heard from the doctor. Unless, of course, the hospital had found some blood.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

There was really no sense in playing dumb any longer. "About the blood? Because I was hoping they'd find some." And then something occurred to Jeff. "Why didn't you ever tell me about your blood type? I could have been prepared."

"Prepared? Prepared for what? It's not like I could keep some on hand just in case I needed it."

"Look Stu, let's not argue about this. It is what it is. I take it they haven't found any yet."

What little anger there had been in Stu's voice dissipated. "No. Now they're calling the hospitals and blood banks in Canada."

"How can I help?" Jeff would do whatever was necessary to return his partner to the office next to his.

Stu sighed. "I don't see there's any way you can help, Jefferson. Unless you're the kind of man that prays. That I could use."

Now it was Jeff's turn to sigh. "I am. And I have been. Call me if you need to. Or if they find blood."

"Got it. I'll talk to you later."


	15. Chapter 15

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 15

By the time Jeff got to the hospital that night Stu had looked at every magazine they had available, and read The New York Times and The Los Angeles Times cover to cover. He hadn't sat in one place like this for that long since he couldn't remember when, and it was driving him crazy. Jeff brought two of the books Stu had been reading with him; Jeff knew that wasn't enough to keep his partner happy but it would do for a start.

The hospital room was filled with flowers. "You running a florist shop on the side, Stu?"

"Isn't this ridiculous? Everyone I've ever known has sent flowers of some kind. I finally had to tell Avery no more, and to keep them at the nurse's station."

"You mean there's more?" Jeff asked incredulously.

Stu looked bewildered. "Yes. Lots."

"I'll collect the cards and have Suzanne send Thank You notes to everyone."

"Thanks. Tell her to keep the cards when she's done. I guess I better read them so I know who she's thanked for me. What's going on at the office? What about your meeting? How did that go?"

"We have a brand new client. And it's going to be big."

"Don't keep me in suspense. I'm dying for any news that isn't hospital or recovery related."

"Chrysler Motor Cars of Los Angeles. There are twelve different Chrysler car lots that are part of the group."

"Well, congratulations. Sounds like you got a big one. What's their problem?"

"Auto theft. Cars disappearing off their lots. It's going to take both of us, I'm afraid."

"Jeff, you know I'm going to be laid up for at least two or three weeks more. How am I going to help?"

His partner chuckled. "I'll find a way, don't you worry. In the meantime, Suzanne sends her love. She wanted to send flowers, but I talked her out of it."

There was that bewildered look on Stu's face again. "She knows better than that."

"Like my mother used to say - we're all at sixes and sevens without you there. I have to play daddy, and I don't do well in that role."

"You do just fine, Jefferson."

"Any word on the blood yet?"

"Not that they've told me. And I still don't know what they're going to do if they don't find any."

"Don't even think about that. They'll find it somewhere."

"Let's hope so. Tell me more about the Chrysler dealerships."

XXXXXXXX

If took the hospital two more days to finally locate the blood needed for Stu's transfusion. Unfortunately, it was in Ottawa, Quebec, and would take about twelve hours to get to San Pedro. Stu gave Jeff the news when he called. "That's great, Stu. I know you want to get out of there, but at least they've found the blood. Just hold on another day and you'll be able to get out of bed and start walking."

"Won't that be a big thrill. I'll be able to walk around the hospital. If I can stand up, that is."

Jeff knew that tone of voice well. Stu was bored. And when he got bored he got grumpy. "You knew there was going to be rehab work because of where the bullet was. The sooner you do the rehab the sooner you can come home."

"I know, I know. I'm just so tired of lying in this bed that I can't see straight. Any chance of you coming down today?"

"No, sorry. I've got the Robertson case to close today, and that will take all afternoon. But I'll be there tonight."

"Alright. I'll talk to you later."

It was almost noon by the time Stu had himself talked into getting up. After all, the blood would be here tonight and they would start the transfusion as soon as it got here. What harm could it do? He waited until he knew Avery was at lunch and decided to try. He carefully swung his legs around the bed and slid his feet into his slippers. He grabbed the handrail and pulled himself to his feet, wobbling only slightly. Still holding onto the railing, he took a step. Then another. Finally he let go and took two steps.

It was the last step that got him. Suddenly he couldn't breathe, and he had a stabbing pain in his chest. It got worse and worse until it felt like a knife in his heart. His breathing was labored and he felt dizzy, on top of everything else. He swayed and staggered and couldn't stay on his feet. All he could think of as he went down was _why didn't I listen to the doctor?_

That's the way Nurse Avery found him, sprawled on the floor, for all the world looking like a dead man. She grabbed the button that would summon help and took his pulse. It was almost normal. By the time Jimmy the orderly got there Stu was coming to. "What . . . what happened?"

"You tell me, Mr. Bailey," was her answer as Jimmy picked him up like last week's laundry and placed him gently on the bed. Avery removed his slippers and covered him with a sheet. "Is that better? Do you have pain anywhere?"

"My . . . my chest hurts."

"Why did you think it was alright to get out of bed?"

There was no answer from Stu.

"I've sent for Doctor Johnson. He'll do a complete exam." She paused while she pulled up a blanket. Stu grabbed the edges of it as he shivered. In a softer voice she told him, "You could have killed yourself, Mr. Bailey."

"I know," he murmured.

By the time the doctor got there he was feeling better. His chest no longer hurt and he was breathing easier. The doctor went over everything thoroughly and then, with what could only be described as a disgruntled expression, asked him the same thing Nurse Avery had. "Why did you think it was alright to get out of bed, Mr. Bailey?"

"I just thought . . . I mean, the blood is coming . . . I guess I wasn't very smart, was I?"

"No, you weren't very smart. I'll tell you once again. Your body doesn't have enough blood for your heart to work properly as it is. When you try to do something else on top of that, your heart takes over and has priority. We can only hope that you didn't do any permanent damage. Will you give me your word that you won't do anything like that again? Otherwise, I'll have to have one of our orderlies sit with you the rest of the day."

"You have my word, Doctor." Stu felt like he'd just been scolded. He also felt like he deserved it. He could just imagine what Jeff would have to say tonight. What had he been thinking? If a client had pulled a stunt like that he would have fired them. He was sick of this bed, sick of this hospital. He was especially sick of all the damage Binny Carroll had caused. The man was dead but he was still causing problems. Stu wanted nothing more than to get out of here and go home, but after what he'd just done he knew he was nowhere near ready to. As if to remind him of how far he was from being healed, his side where he'd been shot began to ache. Why couldn't he have left well enough alone?


	16. Chapter 16

Catch Me if You Can

Chapter 16

"What were you thinking?" Jeff was as angry as Stu had ever seen him. "You could have killed yourself!"

"Who said I was thinking? And I've already had this talk with the doctor, Jeff. And he was none too polite with me, either."

"Polite? He shouldn't have been polite. He should have taken the top of your head off!"

Stu remained silent and let Jeff get it all out of his system. Besides, anything his partner had to say to him, or yell at him, was well-deserved. And Jeff couldn't say anything that Stu hadn't already said himself. Eventually, Jeff stopped.

"Is that it? Have you said everything you wanted to say?"

"For the moment, yes."

"Look, all I can say is I'm sorry. I was wrong and not thinking clearly and you're right. I could have killed myself. And the next time a doctor tells me something I will abide by whatever he tells me." Stu paused for a moment. "And I'm sorry I upset you."

"You know why I was upset, don't you?" Jeff asked in a much calmer voice.

"It's too hard to break in a new partner?"

"Yes, but it's even harder to break in a friend. A very dear friend. Promise me that you'll do what the doctor tells you from now on, please."

"I will, Jeff. I swear."

Jeff had just sat down when Nurse Avery appeared. "They just called from the airport. The blood is here and on its way to us."

"Thank God."

"Now all you have to do is get those gunshot wounds healed."

Stu smiled for the first time in days. "At least I'll be able to get out of bed."

Within the hour the blood was at the hospital and Stu got his transfusion that night.

XXXXXXXX

Three weeks later Jeff unlocked the door to Stu's apartment, then went back to the elevator to help his partner inside. Stu stopped in the doorway before going in. "The last time I was here I didn't know if I'd ever see this place again or not. That seems like years ago."

"Actually, it was only a month. How time flies."

"Guess I'm going to have to get some groceries. Remember the last time we were here?"

Jeff chuckled as he helped Stu to the couch. "You mean when all you had was a bottle of scotch?"

"And two bottles of vodka. Don't forget those."

"We did a good job of finishing off the scotch. But you should still have the vodka."

Stu looked serious. "I don't think two bottles of vodka is going to get me far."

"You've got more than that, my friend. Suzanne dragged me to the grocery store, and she bought enough groceries to feed an army." Actually, shopping with Suzanne had been fun. But he wasn't about to tell Stu that.

"Well, bless your wicked little hearts. I won't have to eat ice cube sandwiches." Stu was tickled to death that he didn't have to figure out a way to get food in the house.

"Not only that, my friend. I'm bringing Suzanne here tonight after work and she's going to cook both of us dinner."

"What did you have to promise her?"

"That I wouldn't let you get shot again." Jeff looked smug when he gave Stu that answer.

"I hope you can fulfill that promise, Jeff," Stu said from the couch. "I really do."

It was almost another month before Stu felt like himself again, and the day he walked back in the front door at Bailey and Spencer was one of the happiest of his life. No matter what happened in the future, there was no more Binny Carroll to contend with. And for that, Stu was eternally grateful.

_The End_


End file.
